Disclaimer: I love these characters even though I do not own them.

Note: It's been a huge long while since I updated this story and for that I'm sorry. That's the issue when you have too many ongoing projects, things get left behind. I am really happy to write on this story again and have some renewed inspiration for a smutty SanSan short that I hope to publish shortly. As always, love your comments, questions and likes. Please feel free to contact me!

Chapter 4: Caught in the thick of it

Sandor

Her hand had come to rest on Sandor's chest, leaving a warm spot he could still feel as he took a long and much needed piss behind a tree. He should have gone earlier but it had been so comfortable tangled up in her arms and legs, that Sandor Clegane could not bring himself to stirr Sansa Stark from sleep. He glanced over from behind the tree to make sure she hadn't gotten herself into trouble. Given what had happened the night before, he'd be a fool to take any more chances. Luckily, in the 60 seconds that had passed, she had indeed managed to stay safe.

'Thank the gods for small fucking favors.' He mused, giving his cock a good shake before placing it back in his trousers.

She had taken a moment to pull that mystery letter out of her saddle bag, confirm it was ok and then slip it back in there. He'd be damned if he wasn't going to find out what was in that bloody thing.

Sansa smiled when he approached her, handing her a piece of salted beef and a portion of bread for her breakfast. She could have been smiling at the food, but he hoped in his gut she'd been smiling at him. He didn't have time to ponder this thought, the sun was coming up and they needed to get a move on.

He watched her pack her things up quickly and silently, trying to understand what would drive her to this. She'd been safe in Winterfell, protected. Now they were exposed and entering into dangerous territory. He had neglected to tell her that this was still disputed territory between the the hill tribes and the Eire, there were skirmishes in this region and that made this part of their journey a bit more dangerous than the other parts.

Spurring his horse Sandor lead the way back to the trail, Sansa in toe. They spoke very little as the sun rose in the east. While this would normally not have bothered Sandor in the least, he wondered how comfortable she felt with it. Knowing how much she liked to chirp her pleasantries and engage in conversation. 'But she's different now. Changed by war, rape and murder.'

She was lost in some kind of thought when Sandor peered out of the bad side of his face to take a look at her. Then it just bubbled to the surface, "So is it true what they say in the beer halls and taverns?"

This seemed to bring her back to reality as she turned her stunning face to him, her blue eyes suddenly filled with curiosity, "And what do they say in these bars and taverns you frequent?"

Sandor slowed his horse so that they were side by side, "That the Lady of Winterfell is as beautiful as she is deadly."

He watched her expression change to something that could have passed for coy, a flush roared up from her neck to her cheeks. 'Never hard to make a red head blush.' Sandor mused.

"Well, I wouldn't say I take joy in killing, nor that I did it by my own hand." Her eyes searched his a moment, a slight smile on her face.

Sandor remembered this conversation they had had before at King's Landing. Where he had spoken to her of how much he enjoyed taking men's lives. He'd saved her from debasement that afternoon, debasement at the hands of rats, only to save her for debasement by a fucked up, sick, bastard Lordling. What was the difference in the end?

"But," she began again, a slight twinkle in her eye as she continued, "I can't deny that feeding Ramsey to his own dogs didn't sate my revenge. I was glad that he suffered, glad that dogs go for the belly first, dragging it out as long as possible."

A smile danced across Sandor's damaged lips. His family had raised dogs, been the kennel masters for many a high lord. He knew the animals well, knew that when they were hungry their only master was their own instincts to feed. There was a poetic justice in having her feed that bastard to the dogs, it was like she had fed them to him, the Hound.

"Aye." Was his only response, their eyes met for a moment and something passed between them that could have been a flicker of sexual excitement.

Blushing again, Sansa broke their stare looking forward in the direction they were traveling. "Lord Baelish on the other hand, that was something different."

"He always seemed like a self absorbed cunt to me." Sandor said gruffly. He'd hated the man and his plots. Intrigue, lies, poison were the weapons of women. Not to say they weren't good or effective, but they were the weapons of a person not able to defend themselves. Littlefinger had been small in stature, but a coward nonetheless.

"I do believe he loved my mother in his twisted way. But he left a trail of corpses and devastation in his wake to get her, then when she wasn't an option, to take me." She looked at him again, it was a similar look to what she had given him in the training yard. A hungry look, an appraising look, sizing him up for something.

Sansa continued, "I'll always regret not going with you when you asked me to, during the Battle of the Blackwater. I was a fool then, I had a misplaced understanding of honor. While Lord Baelish may never have touched me, never have taken what I was lead to believe the most precious thing I had to offer was. He stole so much more from me, used me like a pawn, sold me like prized horse. He defilied me and my family in ways Ramsey could never have dreamed of." A tear threatened to spill over the cusp of her lower lid.

A long suppressed feeling welled up inside Sandor as he heard those words. She'd driven him to drink after her rejection in King's Landing, drove him to kill. To say he'd been angry that she had not trusted him enough to leave her captors, her abusers, would have been an understatement. It had taken him years to forget it, many nights alone thinking of her, wondering where she was, to understand why she had done it. Now, to hear her say that to him, to apologize for this one moment, released him from this grudge he felt for her. Sandor had always been used to punching, hacking and smashing his way through people and feelings. But these words, made everything he had felt for her, held against her all these years, melt away. Leaving him oddly vulnerable to her deep stare.

"I always did what duty required of me, or what I was told by others that duty required of me. But what I began to realize is, there is often a huge difference between duty and will, Clegane. What I really desire is often different …"

She wanted to say more but then she stopped. Not sure how to continue, but leaving Sandor with the feeling that she wanted him. It was as strong as in the training yard or even stronger. The sound of a twig breaking turned his focus from his companion to the ridge above them. Sandor pulled his sword as he peered above them.

'Fuck.' Was the only word he was capable of thinking. The tribes had spotted them, and they weren't in an accommodating mood. The Vale had riled them up as of late, trying to bring them inline before hopefully heading north to fight against the army of the dead.

"Stay close." Sandor whispered. One hill tribe observer was one thing, a whole army of those bastards was something completely different.

Sandor's gut instinct was that they had probably been followed for a while and that, by the simple fact that they were headed to the Vale, they were targets. Stranger flicked his tale and shook his head nervously, Sandor knew it was an indication of impending attack. The horse knew battle well, knew the smell of men before any human could identify it. The woods seem to instantly darken around them, though it was still not quite midday. The smell of the damp earth permeated the air, making it difficult to identify anything else by scent.

The sudden clang of steel and the yells of men were unmistakable, they had come upon an ambush, he and Sansa were in the wrong place at the wrong time. They topped the small hill before he heard it and looking down he could see Vale soldiers mixed in with hill tribe warriors. Looking at Sansa he made a motion they turn around before they were discovered by more than one or two of the tribe's scouts. But as they turned they could see some mounted men in hill tribe fashion making their way toward them, their pace the unmistakable pace of war.

Looking up into the sky to locate the sun Sandor turned to Sansa, "Follow the sun west, in that direction. Don't turn around and don't come back for me. We aren't far now from the Vale, you can make it on your own if you must."

She was clearly distressed as a weak, "But…" escaped her lips.

"Don't argue with me girl, just run!" Sandor's eyes lingered on her one last time before he spurred Stranger toward the mounted men approaching them.

Sansa

Fighting back tears, Sansa spurred her horse in the direction Sandor had indicated. Her horse was like the wind, flying over fallen logs and wet dirt. Kicking up muck in her wake, Sansa cursed herself for putting them in so much danger, for bringing him out here.

'I'm so stupid.' she lamented as she rode fast, tears falling from her eyes.

It was impossible to escape the sounds of war now, the battle had intensified, the screams louder and more desperate. She needed to escape, she needed to flee 'But to where?'

She had hired Sandor to be her protector, to ensure she made it to the Vale safely. But she had not wanted this, she had just wanted to be alone with him to have him share in her final victory over Littlefinger, to be there when she tasted true freedom for the first time. She'd been selfish, wanting him all to herself, to lay near him at night. Now, her selfishness was going to get him killed.

"No." She said as she pulled the reigns of her filly and turned the horse around. "I won't leave him like this."

Her tears gave way to determination, her weakness to the fierce strength of a wolf. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she and her horse ran toward the fog of war, the utter chaos that was unfolding in the woods.

Sansa rode past some dead men and some scared horses, 'The men that were approaching us.' It seemed the Hound had made quick work of them.

Sansa sat up in her saddle trying to see if she could spot Sandor, he was a giant among men, difficult to mistake for anybody else. 'There.'

In the distance she saw him, on his feet and crossing swords with a soldier of the Vale. He'd been unhorsed and injured, she could see blood coming from him as he continued his fight. Even at half his strength he was still intimidating, a force to be reckoned with. Fighting back the fear that was about to take her, Sansa spurred her horse ward the battle, knowing the way was clear behind her.

She cringed as the soldier took a swipe at the Hound and found flesh, blood appearing through the thin leather armor her protector was wearing. This seemed to antagonise Sandor further and, in a moment of pure madness berserker type anger, he sent his sword through the soldier. Gutting him as one would a deer, from stomach to neck.

"Sandor!" Sansa screamed, riding at a full gallop toward him, her hair flying furiously behind her. The look of surprise and relief that came to his face gave her the deep feeling that she had done the right thing. To leave him here in this condition would be to condemn him to death. He held his side in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding.

Moving forward in her saddle she reached out her hand to the severely injured man, "Get on."

With the last of his strength, Sandor climbed onto the horse, slumping toward Sansa almost immediately. "Give me the reigns." he ordered gruffly.

She turned to him, "Are you crazy?" She spurred the horse on and Sandor had to quickly grip her around the waist so as not to fall backward.

Her little filly could feel the extra weight on her and wasn't pleased, screeching as she made for the direction from which Sansa had come. The horse was fit though, and able to keep the pace they needed.

A tribe's man jumped out in front of them, his war cry startling Sansa. The horse kicked him, plowing him to the ground as she continued her labored run away from the violence. Sansa was gripping the reins so hard her hands were hurting. She could feel Sandor's body slumping around her as he slowly lost consciousness.

'What if he's dying?' she feared. 'I have to get us to a safe place.'

Leaving the violence behind Sansa rode through the forest at a desperate pace, the smell of her horse's sweat heavy in her nose. Fear of another ambush or bandits made her shake as she kept her eyes open for anything helpful. The sun was setting and the wind was picking up, if they stayed a night out in the forest Sandor would most surely die.

There was some smoke in the distance, 'A cook fire perhaps.'

Turning her horse in that direction, Sansa rode for the smoke as fast as her poor horse could. It was a farmhouse, 'Oh thank the Seven.'

They couldn't have reached the small house with a barn to the side of it fast enough. Sansa slipped off her horse and hit the ground hard, Sandor fell over, his face weighing heavily on the horse's neck. He was still breathing.

Disheveled, scared and high on adrenaline from the fight she burst through the farmhouse door, "Can somebody help me? My husband is dying!"

There was fear in her eyes and desperation in her face as Sansa observed the shocked family eating dinner before her. Not knowing what they would do next.